The Sailor's Wife
by Rubyclaw
Summary: When the Doctor discovers the consciousness of a Time Lady called the Writer sleeping within a London teenager, he is relieved to no longer be alone. However, something dark lurks over the planet's surface, and both time lords' lives are put in jeopardy.
1. Chapter 1

"WRITER. YOU ARE ENCOURAGED TO SURRENDER YOUR TARDIS BEFORE YOUR TARDIS IS DESTROYED," the automated message barked from Hamlet's monitor.

"HIS NAME IS HAMLET!" the Time Lady shouted back, even though she knew her pursuers couldn't hear her. Hamlet ricocheted and rocked through the time vortex. His stabilizers were down.

"WRITER. YOU ARE ENCOURAGED TO SURRENDER YOUR TARDIS BEFORE YOUR TARDIS IS DESTROYED." Sparks flew from the dashboard as the Writer pushed Hamlet harder and harder.

"You'll never take us alive!" she answered the message. Hamlet gave a sharp Bong! "Oh, don't be ridiculous darling, I'd never let them do that." The TARDIS shook roughly again. He couldn't take much more of this.

"WRITER. YOU ARE ENCOURAGED TO SURRENDER YOUR TARDIS BEFORE YOUR TARDIS IS DESTROYED."

"Come on, Hammy, you can make it. Just a little bit further. I have an idea." Hamlet made a crashing lunge. Sparks exploded. The Writer screamed.

Then all was still. Even the warning message stopped its haunting chant. The Writer popped up from under the dashboard and straightened her square glasses. "Alright, we haven't got much time." She rushed around, readying the Psychic Transplant Machine. Hamlet bonged again. "I know it's risky, darling, but we don't have much choice at this point." She had hooked it up. She lay down on the narrow bed of the stasis chamber. "Once I leave, put me in stasis until I get back. Security Code Sigma." She smiled impishly. "See you soon." She pushed the red button in her lap.

* * *

The new mother smiled as she held her newborn daughter in her arms. The doctor asked her what she wanted to name her.

"Cynthia."

* * *

"Ugh, it's Cynthia again." Sandra commented to Cally, seeing the shy brunette attending her locker in the hallway. Cally nodded.

"She so quiet," the second girl whispered back. "It's creepy."

"Yeah, and she talks to herself. I see her doing it at lunch."

"So weird."

"I'm glad she's graduating this year. Then we won't have to be bothered by her again." Cally nodded and the girls continued to head towards their class.

* * *

Cynthia sat on her living room floor, writing in a notebook. She had gotten a great idea for a story, and the creation of it was going fabulously, but now she needed a word... it was just lingering on the far edges of her mind, but she couldn't quite reach it... she sighed. She hated when this happened. She considered getting her laptop and looking for a reasonable substitute on . She knew she'd never find exactly what she was looking for. She heard a slight fluctuating whirr. She ignored it. Probably just traffic. The noise grew louder. Suddenly a strong wind blew through the room, flipping the pages of Cynthia's notebook. She looked up and stared. A blue police box was slowly materializing right in front of her. She stood and scrambled backward. The noise and the wind stopped. The door creaked open. A tall, thin man with spiky brown hair stepped out. He froze as his brown eyes locked on to Cynthia's icy blue ones, and both people stood and gawked at each other for a long, awkward while.

"Well," he said at last. "This is awkward." Cynthia just nodded. "Umm..." he sighed. "The easiest way to explain this is for you to get in the box."

"Um, no." Cynthia replied.

"Aw, come on, why not?"

"Let's think about this for a moment: strange man appears in my living room and asks me to get in the box."

"Alright, I know this sounds bad, but how could it _not_ sound bad?"

"If this was a magic show that went horribly wrong." Cynthia answered. "Are you a magician?"

"Well, no, but -"

"I didn't think so."

"Look, if you would just get in the box..."

"What's the big deal about the box anyway?"

"Oi, now, don't say that too loud; she'll get angry."

"Wait, _she?!_" The strange man sighed with extreame annoyance and then launched into an overwhelmingly fast, incredibly technical description of something or another. About five minutes into it, Cynthia couldn't take it anymore. "Alright, question," she interrupted. "If I go into the box will you stop talking?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed impatiently.

"Alright, fine," Cynthia agreed. "At least you're attractive."

* * *

The Doctor was so relieved when he finally got the girl into the TARDIS. He had to admit, it did look _really_ bad. But the TARDIS took him here for a reason. He had to meet that girl, whatever the TARDIS's justification. After reaching the control panel he looked back at the girl. She seemed to be having the normal reaction. The young girl stared around the TARDIS in confused amazement. She seemed human enough. A teenager, probably. Short, dark brown hair. Icy blue eyes. Average dress for the time period. But the TARDIS wanted him to meet her for some reason.

"It's called a TARDIS," the Doctor began to explain. "Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It's essentially a living machine capable of traveling anywhere in the universe." She looked more confused.

"But.. how did you... hold on," she stuttered. She began to flip through the pages of her notebook. "How did you know about TARDISes? I thought I... I thought I came up with them."

"What?"

"Look, I've got everything you just said written down right here." The Doctor looked at the entry in the notebook.

T.A.R.D.I.S.

Time And Relative Dimension In Space. A T.A.R.D.I.S is essentially a living machine with the capability to transverse both time and space.

The Doctor couldn't believe his eyes.

"Where did you come up with this?"

"It was a... a dream I had..." she was wincing, like she was in pain. She clutched her forehead. "Oooh!" She collapsed. The Doctor felt himself panic.

"Are you alright?!" He glanced at the cover of the notebook: _Property of Cynthia_. "Cynthia, are you ok?" He put his hand on her shoulder. Suddenly she relaxed.

"Oi," she said in a slightly different tone, "_Laissez faire_, Theta Sigma." The Doctor jumped back about five feet. How did she know that name?

"What?!"

"Easy there, Thete, I was only kidding." She stood up and looked at him. Even her expression was different now.

"What?!"

"Oh, darling, you are quite jumpy. I hope I haven't frightened you too badly."

"What?!"

"Calm down, you'll give yourself a heart attack."

"Who... who are you?"

"Oh, you don't recognize me? I have changed a lot, and you always did have the most terrible memory." Her demeanor suddenly shifted back to the way the Doctor had met her. "Oi, answer the man's question. I'd kinda like to know that too." She shifted back to weird again. "Oh, come on, Cynthia, tell me you recognize your own imaginary friend." Another shift. "Well, yeah, but you're not supposed to be taking over my body and talking with my voice. That's not how it works." Shift again. "Sorry about that darling, I'll get this worked out as soon as possible. But, Doctor, it's me. The Writer. From the Academy? I covered your soap bar with nail polish once." The Doctor shuddered.

"I remember," he replied. Then he realized that this couldn't be happening. "What! No. I don't believe you."

"Oh, why not?"

"Because it's completely impossible!"

"I can prove it."

"Try me."

"Su ranu maku darin day, tu canu remu pasin te." That evidence was pretty conclusive. The Writer shifted back into Cynthia.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"It's Gallifreyan. Nothing to fancy; it was a nursery rhyme we learned as children."

"But... but how'd you get out of the time lock?" Suddenly she looked shocked.

"They time locked the war? Blimey, I've missed a lot. How bad did it get?" The Doctor struggled against all of the terrible memories that began surfacing in his mind.

"It was Hell," he choked out. "Hell itself."

"Oh no," the Writer moaned, crestfallen. "Now I feel terrible. I abandoned everybody..." The Doctor ran up to her and grabbed her shoulders. She looked up into his eyes.

"Listen to me," he insisted, "what you did was the absolute best thing you could ever have done. Don't feel bad about it. You have absolutely no idea what finding you right now means to me." She smiled a little bit. Then Cynthia was back.

"Could somebody please explain to me what the hell is going on here?!"

"Cynthia, darling, I'll clear this up later. Right now, I simply must get my body back. The moment they detect my psychic wavelength they'll be on me like Americans on a Twinkie truck." The Doctor quickly became nervous. How could he tell her?

"I... don't think they will."

"Why not?" she asked, concern growing on her face. "I'm a deserter and a traitor, and lately they haven't been very kind about such things."

"Because... because they're all dead! All of them! They're all dead..."

"I... I don't believe it. We lost?"

"Everyone lost. Daleks, Time Lords... everyone. Everyone is dead.

"Everyone..." Her face became covered in shock and despair. "How can you be sure?"

"How can I be sure... _I killed them!_ All of them! I killed them all." He paused to try and breathe. "I used the Moment. I had to! They were going to begin the Ultimate Sanction. I couldn't... I couldn't let that happen. And I never thought I'd have to confront that again! But then you show up, and you just had to ask!" He stopped, on the verge of tears.

"Do you need a hug?"

"No! I'm... I'm fine."

"A fine liar maybe. You need a hug." She walked up and pinned his arms to his sides with a big hug. He had to admit, it made him feel better. Like his people had forgiven him. Except then she shifted back into Cynthia again.

"Can you get out of my body before you two start this lovely relationship?" she asked, releasing the Doctor. Cynthia shifted into the Writer.

"Right. I do need to get my body back. By the way my consciousness is expanding, within a few hours poor Cynthia will be completely crushed. And besides, this multiple-personality issue is getting really confusing for all of us." She shifted back.

"Amen!"

"Right, well," the Doctor transitioned, "we'd better get on that then. Where did you leave it?"

"In Hamlet." The Doctor sighed. She always did like calling her TARDIS Hamlet. He could never understand why.

"And where did you leave Hamlet?" She looked about to say something before she stopped.

"I - don't actually know." The Doctor covered his face with one hand.

"Right. Well, I _can_ do a scan for alien technology..."

"That won't work. Before I left, I activated Security Code Sigma. That's a level 27 perception filter. There isn't a device in the universe to date that I can think of that could detect him."

"Level 27?" he questioned. "How'd you get it up so high?"

"Oh, Thete, you know I've always had a knack for those things. Remember when I -"

"Yes. I remember. And it was embarrassing, thank you." The Doctor sighed. The Writer was so annoying when they were kids. Hopefully she'd matured, or this was going to be a long day. "Well, let's see... you used a psychic transplant, so unless you also have a knack for those, you must have been within a mile of Cynthia when you performed the transplant."

"So the real question was, where was I?" Cynthia piped up. "I don't ever remember not knowing you. I must have been very young."

"Hm, let me see. I might have gathered something before being fully compressed... It was dark, I know that. And we were getting pushed towards something. And then... light. Blinding light. Someone picked us up..."

"She was being born!" the Doctor concluded. "And that means you were in a hospital!"

"Yes! Quick, Cynthia, which hospital were you born in?"

"Umm... hold on, let me think... Royal Hope! Royal Hope Hospital. At least, that's what my mom told me. I see no reason for her to be lying."

"Right, so we look there." The Doctor turned to the TARDIS's control panel. "_Allons-y!"_


	2. Chapter 2

The trio (well, duo) got out of the TARDIS and looked around. The hospital stood before them, and all of London surrounded it.

"So where do you think Hamlet is?" the Writer asked the Doctor.

"I don't know. His chameleon circuit was functioning, and then there's the perception filter... he could be anywhere. You _really_ should have checked where you landed before you transplanted."

"Well I wasn't thinking about that! I was thinking about how much I didn't want to fight in the war!"

"Anyways, we'd better start looking."

"Where should we start?"

"I think we should start inside the hospital," Cynthia suggested.

"Cynthia has a point," the Writer confirmed. "The transplant was pretty clean, which suggests a close proximity."

"Right, well then, let's get started." The group walked toward the building. Cynthia and the Writer entered, but then they noticed that the Doctor wasn't with them. They backed out and looked for him. He was staring at something on the perimeter of the building.

"Doctor!" the Writer called. "Come on!" He seemed to snap out of it.

"Right. Yes. Coming."

* * *

The Writer was so lucky that the Doctor found her. Even if she had woken up on her own, and figured out where Hamlet was, she never could've gotten past reception without the Doctor's psychic paper. She was now with him and Cynthia walking up a hallway on the first floor of the hospital, looking for signs of anything even slightly unordinary. Suddenly the Doctor stopped. Cynthia and the Writer looked at him. "What is it?" Cynthia asked.

"What security code did you say you used?"

"Sigma."

"And, that activated a level what exactly perception filter?"

"Twenty-seven. Why?"

"Because... last I checked, hospitals didn't number their rooms with greek letters." The Writer and Cynthia looked where he was looking: Door 27Σ. The Writer smiled excitedly.

"Ooooh! He always was a clever boy!" She ran up to the door and put her hand on it lovingly.

"How are you going to get in?" the Doctor asked. "You don't even have your key!"

"He's a type 98; he doesn't need a key." She knocked on the door in a particular pattern. It swung open. The interior of a TARDIS not much different from the Doctor's was revealed. The Writer smiled coyly.

"How did you do that?"

"He's imprinted on my psychic wavelength. I'm the only person in the universe that can open him. And, I don't need a key. It's even safer than isometrics." She ran inside and the Doctor followed her in. She gave Hamlet a big hug around his center column. "I missed you so much Hammy! Yes I did! Oh, how fabulous it is to be back! Did you miss me?" Hamlet bonged. "I know, darling, I was gone for far too long. I'll never do that again." Then she kissed him. She suddenly shifted into Cynthia.

"You are crazy," the human girl told her. "Can I have my body back now?"

"Oh! Yes, of course darling." She got down and moved toward the back of the control room. "Stasis chamber is here. Doctor, I'll need your help!" She began fiddling with the machinery of a large contraption: the psychic transplant machine she used to leave her body in the first place. The Doctor ran over to help her. He saw her old body lying down in the stasis chamber. Long, straight brown hair framed a face that looked about mid-twenties. The eyes were closed behind those square glasses he remembered well. She was thin, and looked about 5' 4" tall. She was wearing a tan jacket from a suit over a pink T-shirt. Here jean-shorts went almost to her knees, and white socks peeked up over the tops of long brown boots that laced all the way up. A brown scarf hugged her neck. She was half-smiling like the Mona Lisa. Nice girl, Mona Lisa. A bit snippy, but he always kind of liked attitude. "Alright," the Writer piped up again. He looked her way. She had Cynthia sitting in a device similar to the Chameleon arch - headset and all. She handed him a big red button while still fiddling with other machinery in her lap. "When I say to, hit that button. That's all you need to do."

"Are you _sure_ this will work?"

"I'm positive." The machine started beeping. "Now, Doctor!" Hesitantly the Doctor pushed the button in his hand. The machine whirred and smoked. Sparks flew everywhere. All kinds of beeps and sounds came from the device. It stopped. Everything was still for one long, sickening moment. Suddenly the Writer's body gasped to life from within the stasis chamber. Quickly the Doctor rushed over and pressed a button on the side. The glass slid open and she tumbled out into the Doctor's arms.

"Oh, blimey..." she panted. "I am never doing that again."

"Well, you've got no reason to now."

"Yes... I suppose you're right... I just... I just don't believe it..."

"I know," the Doctor whispered. "But think of it this way: At least we have each other. You can't imagine how wonderful it is to find you here." The Writer smiled at him. "Well, now that we've got that settled, how about we take a spin around the universe? You, me..." he glanced at Cynthia hesitantly, "Cynthia..."

"Oh no," Cynthia insisted. "I'm not gonna get dragged God-knows-where just to watch you two make out. I'll wait here. You two can enjoy your date."

"Honey, are you sure?" the Writer asked. "I hate to leave you..."

"No, really, it's fine. But if you don't come back for me I'll find you and kill you however many times it takes for you to stop regenerating!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling. You're like a sister. We'll take Hamlet; that way we won't get _lost_," she told the Doctor pointedly, "and I know he won't kidnap me because he's practically married to his TARDIS."

"At least I didn't name her!"

"Shut up!" She turned to Cynthia. "We'd best get going; Hamlet's itching for some exercise. Poor thing's been stuck here sixteen years." The trio walked out of Hamlet, and Cynthia looked at her imaginary friend as though it would be the last time, because for all she knew, it might have been. The Writer smiled and winked, and the otherworldly pair turned back and disappeared inside Hamlet's door. Suddenly, a blue ring apeared around the door, and Cynthia got worried. She knew from the time lady's memories that were shoved inside her head: This shouldn't happen. She ran to the door as Hamlet dematerialized in pixels, not at all the way a TARDIS should. By the time Cynthia reached the door, it was gone – nothing but a bare wall. Cynthia looked up at the ceiling. Her only friend was gone – probably forever.


End file.
